There are about a million and one antique slash vintage slash thrift slash consignment stores around here. One of the many bounties of living in a resort town.
Over lunch I zipped over to Pacific Coast Highway so I could check out about four in about 15 minutes. Most of the stores were predictably shabby chic/ country kitchen, which is totally not my style. I don’t really know what you’d call my style…maybe Elegant Juxtaposition. I love antiques and unique finds, but I don’t want my house to look like a vintage store. I also don’t want it to look like a furniture showroom. I want a mixture of great pieces done in a really modern glam way.
I hit the jackpot at one of the stores. I found a knockoff tulip chair and a gorgeous teak desk to put in the former breakfast, current office nook. Tons of mid-century modern stuff. I’ll have to go back this weekend and see what I can take home with me.
Next door was a ratty old consignment shop. But since this is not my first time at the dance, I am unafraid of a dingy store because I know that there could still be treasures inside. I wander around for awhile and end up in a back corner when the owner comes back to help me. He was shorter than me, probably 65, and dressed like he just took home whatever clothes were too beaten up to sell in the store.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Hmm…nope. I guess I’m just looking for something great to jump out at me.”
I wander out of that corner and have to pass by him in the tiny aisles created by looming armoires and discarded entertainment centers. As I pass he steps in to me and leers as he says, “Well get back in that corner and it might be me.”
I just kind of awkwardly laughed and said, “Oh Dear.” And then got myself out of there as soon as I could. I still have the shudders. Ew.